


Cast

by theredhoodie



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gaby breaks her wrist on a mission, she is faced with the harsh reality of being unable to take care of herself without help. Thankfully for her, Illya hasn't left her alone in the villa and he offers up his assistance--even if he doesn't realize exactly what he's getting himself into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast

**Author's Note:**

> So this blossomed by some adorable headcanons I saw on tumblr. I've been trying to get back into writing fics and the TMFU world is just so rich and full, I have to keep writing it and giving the fandom more fics!
> 
> Anyway, hastily edited by myself. I hope there isn't any blatant editing mistakes. Please enjoy!

Gaby scratches at the edge of the cast. It's heavy and frustrating because she cannot get it wet and she cannot very well go on missions with a broken wrist. Neither can she take out her frustrations on an engine with a wrench, leaving her to pad around one of Waverly's safe houses like a ghost in the same white nightgown that she hasn't been able to change out of.

She has only been home from the hospital for two days but she already feels herself going insane.

And then comes the trouble of washing her hair—and her body, for that matter. She sits on the edge of the porcelain tub, contemplating, her arm in a sling because it's easier to handle that way and doesn't hurt her shoulder so much.

Illya appears in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. "Is something wrong?"

(Both he and Solo have been nonstop worrying about her. They got over her breaking her wrist pretty quickly, but now they are equally worried about her trying to overdo it and hurting herself farther.)

Gaby, as if this was the first time she has gone days without washing her hair, feels like she is about to cry because she can't even do a simple thing like taking care of herself. "I can't wash my hair," she says after swallowing down a lump in her throat. She hated not being able to do something; her entire life has been built up on being able to do everything for herself that needed to be done. And here she is, stressed and frustrated beyond measure that she can no longer.

He just looks at her, as he does often, before he moves forward into the bathroom, hand extended. Gaby looks at his hand as if she's expecting it to do something, before she takes it and hops off the edge of the tub.

"I will do it," he says, as if offering her the world on a platter.

She tilts her head back to look at him and waits for him to say something else—she should stop waiting for that, he rarely says more if a sentence sounded final—but he doesn't. "You're going to wash my hair?" she asks, to clarify.

"Yes," he says, an affirmation that sounds heavenly to her ears.

Gaby doesn't like to accept favors. She doesn't like to owe anyone anything, and yet she follows him out of the bathroom and up the stairs of the villa to the third floor. Napoleon Solo, being Napoleon Solo, had taken up the master suite, which includes a bathroom three times the size of Gaby's apartment on the West side of the wall. Solo is not currently in—he's out buying something expensive, no doubt—so Illya marches her into the bathroom.

The tub is enormous and surrounded by marble that reaches the walls on three of the sides.

"Get in," Illya says, letting go of her hand and searching through cabinets.

"In the tub?" Gaby asks, eyeing the inlaid porcelain.

"In the tub."

Three minutes later, Gaby is in the tub, there is a half-filled basin of water pushed near the edge, and Illya's perched on the marble.

"This is ridiculous," Gaby says, closing her eyes and cutting off her vision of the mural on the ceiling.

"It is not." Illya wet her hair in the basin, cupping his hands to get higher on her scalp, running his fingers through her wet tresses as they floated in the water.

Gaby clears her throat, pressing her feet against the bottom of the tub so she doesn't slip. "Have you done this before?" she asks, risking cracking open an eye. She can see a very strange angle of him from here. She closes her eye quickly before he can catch her peeking.

"No," Illya replies softly, pouring soap in his hands and creating suds in his palms before he starts to rub her hair between this hands, starting at the bottom and working up to the roots. "It is easy enough."

"Mmmm." Gaby's response isn't quite a response. She bites down on the inside of her cheek and tucks her working hand under the arm in the sling.

She knows that Illya can do incredible things with his hands. Typically violent things, because it is his job, but right now, she can't imagine his hands being anything but gentle.

"It is the least I can do," Illya says once the silence stretches on for far too long and her hair is covered in white suds. "You have a broken wrist."

"How observant," Gaby says with a small smile. "If you want to help me even more, would you mind helping me change my clothes?"

Illya's hands still. Gaby chuckles and opens her eyes to find him sitting back. She sits fully upright, not worrying about the water or soap that starts to soak through her nightgown.

"It's not my fault Waverly put me on a team with men. Someone needs to help me." She glances at the basin filled with soapy water. "Would you prefer I ask Solo to help me when he returns?"

Illya shakes his head then, sitting forward and grabbing the basin. "No. I will do it," he repeats from earlier.

Gaby smiles a smug smile as he gets off the marble and stands. He pours the water into the sink and fills it again. Gaby rests against the edge of the oversized tub, careful to keep her dripping hair away from her cast.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?" Gaby asks finally, once he's back on the marble, sliding the metal basin toward her. He also has a metal pitcher in hand, filled with warmer water.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, waving his hands to she'll rest her back against the tub and let him finish washing her hair.

Gaby does as he silently asks, closing her eyes once again.

She ignores her own question and asks another. "Do you know that you have very gentle hands for someone who kills for a living?"

"I do not kill for a living."

Gaby opens her eyes and tilts her head back slightly as he lifts the pitcher high enough to pour over her scalp. "I'm sorry. I…didn't mean that. It is not as if I've never taken a life," Gaby mentions quietly. She has been on multiple missions now; she has blood on her hands, just like a real spy.

"What did you want to talk about?" Illya guides her back to her original question.

Gaby closes her eyes, lets him continue his work, and pictures the very moment she was thinking of. How many almost-kisses can two people have? Gaby tires not to dwell too much on her feelings; she is much more apt to just go ahead with things full throttle.

She isn't talking about the near-kisses though. She's talking about the actual kiss they shared, not needed for any undercover mission, not surrounded with the death of her father or stained with her snubbed betrayal.

"When you kissed me," Gaby says simply.

"What is there to talk about? It is not a good idea. We work together."

"Nothing ever stops me from getting what I want. I got out of East Berlin, didn't I? I won't be put behind any walls or bars again. I do what I want. Waverly will not be my Berlin Wall."

"I don't believe he wishes to be."

"You should not put up walls either," Gaby says. She moves again, her rinsed hair falling against her back again, soaking through the white fabric.

Illya takes in a deep breath and raises his eyebrows slightly. He looks at her like he almost always looks at her, even when they're on a mission: like she's some sort of tether, or she's bright like a star, or like she holds all the answers he's been searching for.

"Like that," she says, tucking her feet under her.

Illya blinks and looks down at the basin. "Okay," he says softly. "I will try my best."

Gaby half smiles at him and stands, leaning over enough for her hair to fall all to the one side. With her free hand, she wrings out her hair, the water dropping onto her feet.

"Thank you," she says, carefully getting out of the tub. "Are you still going to help me change my clothes?"

(He says yes too quickly, as if he's expecting her to go back on her word and wait for Solo to return. He follows her closely downstairs and to her room, which could be called a suite, he supposes, but it's smaller than Solo's. Illya himself chose the smallest of the rooms, because he does not need much, especially in a place he will not be staying for very long.)

She doesn't actually need much of his help to be able to change her clothes. He stands with his back to her, even as she disappears in the large closet. She finds a loose shirt and a pair of capri-trousers that would be comfortable and sets them out for herself.

"You do not have to turn your back now," Gaby says, walking into the room and toward him. "Help me?" She lifts her right shoulder and Illya helps unsnap the sling. The cast is heavy and her fingers hurt as they bend on habit when her arm falls to her side. She makes a face and rubs her shoulder with her left hand before tossing the sling on the chair nearby. "And uh…my nightgown. There are buttons down the back."

Leaving her broken wrist to the side and out of the realm of water, she grabs her hair with her left hand, lifting it so that he can see the five small buttons.

"You're trembling," Gaby says with a large smirk on her face, hidden from him. "Are you scared?"

"Maybe a little," Illya says, small little hints of humor floating through his tone, and his hands steady as he pops the small cloth buttons the size of pearls through the string loops.

"Don't be," Gaby tells him as he gets the last one. She twists around, dropping her hair and tilting her head back to see his face. "I will be gentle."

He nods and smiles at her humor as she moves back toward the closet, her gown split open halfway down her back, showing off the curve of her spine. He swallows and turns back around, lifting a hand and pushing his hair down.

In the closet, it takes Gaby longer to dress than she would have hoped. She slowly pulls on panties and then her pants, doing her best to zipper them up and button them with one hand. It takes what feels like an eternity to do, but she manages to get it. Her bra, however, is much more difficult to handle with its rows of small hooks. She wonders exactly what Illya's face will look like if she stepped out now, holding the small cloth to her chest and asking him to maneuver the small clips. She struggles to clip one of the two before she has to shuffle out into the room.

"It seems I do need your assistance," she says, holding her good arm across her chest and turning around quickly before she can see the look on his face. "The little hooks are not the easiest one handed."

Illya walks closer, rubbing his hands together as if they would be cold. It is a habit he has whenever he plans on touching her. He slid his fingers under the band, accidentally unhooking the one hook she clipped herself.

"Have you ever touched one of these before?" she teases.

"Do not mock me."

"I can't help it. It is so easy," Gaby laughs lightly as he hooks her bra closed. "Thank you," she says over her shoulder as she walks away, back to the closet. The shirt she chose is sleeveless, so it's easy enough to push her hefty cast through. It's a mint green color with white polka dots, buttons and a tie down the front.

"Why do so many women's clothes have buttons?" Illya asks when she came out again, shirt hanging open, the look of defeat on her face.

"Are you not the clothing expert, Mr. Kuryakin?" Gaby motions him around the short lounge couch, which she steps up onto so she's a little bit taller than him and he has to bend down much less to reach the buttons on her shirt.

"Another jest, little chop shop girl?" he asks, eyes focused on the little white buttons, going down the line of them expertly until he reaches the purposeful extra fabric used to tie the front.

"Like I said, you make it far too easy." She watches him carefully tie a small knot in the fabric and then drop his hands. She then lifts her left hand and puts it gently on his shoulder. "I think I want some tea on the veranda. Would you like to join me?" She smiles softly and brushes her fingers against his neck before stepping down and patting his chest before heading toward the exit of her bedroom.

Illya pauses, waits, thinks, and then he follows her, because the villa is empty besides them and it is nice to see Gaby acting less like a ghost and more like herself, damp hair trailing over her shoulders and all.


End file.
